Original subtitles

Good afternoon.

Can I help you? Good afternoon. Yes, I'd like to see the pendant that's in the

window, please.

Oh, there's the pendant. Well, can you just sit down there a minute and I'll go

and get it and show it to you?

I think this is the one you were looking at. Yes, that's right. That's it, isn't

it? It's very pretty. It's a very nice little piece.

I think it's probably French, you know.

I don't know if you've got a moment to spare, but there is quite a story

attached to that pendant.

It belonged to a girl called Rose, who was living here in Plymouth about a

century and a half ago.

Her husband was a sailor, and he'd picked it up on his travels, hung it

round her neck for luck the day that he sailed for what turned out to be the

last time.

Down a few weeks later, poor fellow, Rose was left with three young children.

They were destitute.

She was down to her last few pence.

She'd sold all her little bits and pieces, all except the... pendant, his

last present.

I suppose it was probably only worth a few pence in those days, but anyway, she

kept it. It hung round her neck night and day.

While there was only one thing left to be done, the older children would have

to go on the parish, as the saying was. That's what they called going to the

workhouse.

And, of course, it was thought of as a disgrace.

Rose wouldn't have let them see how downhearted she felt.

Come on, get up your things.

That's right.

And my good boy, Will.

Lizzie was just seven, and her young brother, Will, only about four years

old.

Workhouses were grim institutions, as you can imagine they were meant to be.

They had to be more unappealing than the awful poverty of those working for the

lowest wages.

It must have nearly broken Rosie's heart to see her two disappear into that grim

place.

Now, of course, she could go out to work.

She got a job in the kitchens of a big house where they let her take the baby

with her, or, for a pittance, in return for 12 hours' work a day.

On occasional Sundays when they let her have the day off, she'd tuck the baby

under her arm and go to visit, but still she wasn't able to save any money

towards bringing them home again.

She decided to work even on her days off.

Insight was that she didn't see the children now for some months.

When she was able to visit them again, the matron had some news for her.

I have some very good news for you.

I'm very happy to tell you that Lizzie has been bound to a farmer on Dartmoor.

Why, who's right? Has she been bound?

My dear, that is the law.

Of course, in those days, incredibly young children were put to work, but it

must have been a terrible shock to Rose.

She'd been hoping to have her children back again quite soon.

She'll be seven years.

Seven years, yes.

To Rose, it seemed an eternity.

But she wasn't the sort to give up easily.

She made up her mind that somehow or other, she would get her daughter back.

Early next morning, she set

off to walk across the moors.

to the farm where her daughter had gone, 20 miles.

The way to Princetown must have been much as it is now, the moors each side

of it a bleak and barren ground, a grey-green landscape.

At last she got to Princetown, the inn was very much as it is today, maybe you

know it, a white timber building.

She stopped there to ask the way. Now she was tired, hungry, but she had no

money.

Fortunately, the innkeeper's wife took pity on her.

Oh, thank you.

I've got no money.

Four doesn't matter, my dear.

Thank you.

She walked on for several more miles, and then she found a place to rest

beside a stream.

and put the baby on the ground beside her.

Soon the baby stopped fretting and they

both slept.

When she awoke, the sun had gone.

A chilly breeze had sprung up. The countryside around her was growing dark.

The moor's a somber place at night, especially when you're alone.

And then she sees a light. It can't be the farm that she's seeking. That must

be much further on. She thought she might find here some secret safe place

for the night. A barn, perhaps.

And then suddenly the baby set up a wail.

Yeah.

Well, you must be hungry. Would you like some soup?

Yes, I'd love some. Thank you.

There.

Well, I never did.

Let me have that dear little soul.

Thank you. There.

I like to think of Rose toasting her cold feet by the fire, drinking the bowl

of soup, and the farmer's wife sitting the other side of the fireplace with the

baby in her arms.

And you can be sure that Rose tells her story.

They said it was a place called Cater.

How far is that?

Okay, it'll be about five mile.

I think tonight, you better stay here by the fire.

Now, when you've had your soup, if you could just take the baby, and I got

something very special for him.

Mmm. Yes. Thank you.

There.

All right?

Just now.

Well...

She brings out this lovely old wooden cradle. I have actually seen it. The

baby had never had such good bedding, poor little creature.

What do you think of that, then?

How beautiful.

I raised all my five sons in that book club.

How beautiful.

Come on, my little darling.

There.

Rose settled down, warm and safe, for a few hours' much-needed sleep.

At first light, the farmer's wife was down in the kitchen again, ready for the

long day's work, and Rose too had to rouse up.

the woman seemed anxious for her uninvited visitors to be on their way

before her husband came down you know some of those hill farmers were very

suspicious of strangers and i suppose you can't blame them

A fine, fresh September morning and as Rose steps out, refreshed from her

night's sleep, she feels light-hearted.

And the moor looking beautiful now as the sun comes up.

Do you know the road to Cater?

It's more of a lane, really, which winds its way across a sea of tangled gorse

like seaweed covering the rocks.

Down the lane, round the corner, and there's the farm in the very midst of

the moors.

She puts the baby safely down on the heather, runs down the hill, all her

tiredness forgotten.

Lizzie!

It's your mother!

In a moment, Lizzie is across the stream and in her mother's arms.

But their joy is to be short-lived.

Around the side of the house comes the farmer with another sack of potatoes,

and he's not best pleased at what he sees.

Good to see you. Have you been a good girl?

I haven't been working you too hard.

There now. I brought the baby. Do you want to see the baby? He's grown.

He's up there. Come on. Shall we go see him?

Hey.

Hey, what are you doing with that child?

She's my daughter.

I don't care whose daughter she is. I've signed for her. She's mine. She was in

the workhouse and I... I never meant her to come here.

I'm sorry if it's a mistake of yours, but she's mine for the next seven years

and she's working for me. Come on, girl.

Oh, sorry.

Come on, come on.

Say goodbye to your mother and come on over here.

What am I going to do without her?

I don't care what you think. I've signed for her. I know it's the law. You can

start taking her away and I'll get the law on you.

This is for Nuck.

Rose puts a brave face on it for her child's sake, but she must have been

feeling despair.

She takes the pendant from her neck and slips it over Lizzie's head, promising

to come and fetch her home soon.

This locket's really for luck.

May you wear it always, and Mummy be back in a couple of months.

Here you go, sweetheart.

Lizzie has learned to do what she's told.

Learned that in the workhouse, most probably.

Bye now, Lizzie.

Bye, love.

He wasn't a hard-hearted man, you know, but he couldn't afford paid labour.

He probably had the devil of a job to scrape a living from his meagre land.

Rose turned away.

Looked back one more time and then couldn't bear to look anymore.

Helpless, hopeless.

She started her long journey home.

How different everything looked to her now.

The road seemed rough.

She noticed that her thin shoes were almost worn through.

The baby weighed more and more heavy in her arms as she trudged along, with

always that picture in her mind of her little girl standing barefoot in the

stream at her work.

She passed the farmhouse where she'd rested the night before.

She hesitated at the door, needing comfort as much as food and drink.

But today, the farmer's wife seems nervous.

It's no time for argument.

Rose takes to her heels and runs, not daring to look back.

Poor soul.

Perhaps she really did give away her luck with that pendant.

At two bridges, she sits down on a wall to rest and feed the

baby. Doesn't dare let herself sleep. Of course, she must keep awake and...

try to get home before nightfall.

As she sits there, no doubt thinking of Lizzie, she hears the sound of a horse

and carriage.

A very smart-looking outfit appears.

The gentleman stops and asks her very politely where she might be going.

When she tells him Plymouth, he's delighted. He insists that he's heading

in that direction himself.

Would you like to ride?

Well, I don't know exactly. I have to get there, and I... Are you going that

way? I'm going to Plymouth, and it's no problem.

Come along in.

Well, thank you.

Thank you very much. You're welcome.

In a moment, Rose finds herself installed beside him, the baby on her

lap, bowling along the road at a smartish pace.

It all seems too good to be true.

And alas, it is.

They've covered no more than two or three miles before the fine gentleman

makes it clear that he expects some payment for his kindness.

And where are you going to, my dear?

I'm going home, sir.

And where is home?

Oh, not far.

Just inside the city.

I see.

I don't think you ought to do that, sir.

I don't feel it's quite right.

Just a little bit. I don't think so. That's not right.

I don't think so. I just asked for a lift.

Just a little bit.

No, I don't know.

I only accept that they're lift, but... I would have stopped this carriage at

once!

He's not used to being refused, and he's very cross.

He more or less pushes her and the baby out and throws her bundle after her.

As Rose watches the carriage roll away, I think her spirits must be dropping to

just about their lowest.

But for the baby's sake, if not for her own, she must somehow get back to

Plymouth.

Slowly...

Painfully, she starts on her way again.

Absolutely nothing was going right for her. Within hours, a mist had come down,

suddenly, as these moorland mists do, and it seemed to envelop her, getting

into her eyes and down her throat. The landscape was just blotted out.

She could just make out the path and...

All she could do, all she could think of now was to go on putting one foot after

the other on and on.

Go to sleep.

Go to sleep. By the time she at last sees home, she's soaked through,

chilled, shivering.

Every muscle in her body seems to ache.

And as she lies down, I'd wager her last thoughts are with Lizzie.

But Rose never did go back to collect her little girl before the winter was

over. Both she and the baby were dead.

Well, now, I suppose you perhaps think I'm making all this up, but I promise

you it's a true story.

And you may ask me, how did I know?

Well, I know because Rose told a neighbour, one of her neighbours about

it, and the neighbour told... Well, I'll come to that in a minute.

But Lizzie on the farm, she heard. The news got to her that her mother and the

baby were dead.

They died of a fever, a typhus probably, something of that sort.

They had a terrible time, of course, crossing the moor, and maybe that killed

them.

And she was deeply upset by that. But her great concern always was the

brother. What happened to the brother? What happened to Willie? What became of

Willie? And, of course, nobody could tell her that.

Well, there's more to the story, if you have time.

Yes, please. I could show you one other thing, which I think would interest you.

Because I've got an old photograph here.

Now, if you look at that...

How lovely.

That's Lizzie. She was a very pretty girl. You see, she's like her mother.

And if you look right down there at the bottom, just on the photo, it's the

pendant you're holding, you see? Yes.

Well, now, at that age, she'd had a turn of luck for the better because she'd met

a young shepherd out on the moor near this farm where she worked.

She'd married him, and he, of course, had a cottage with his job.

And so there was Lizzie, settled down for the first time in a home of her own.

Locally, everyone knew her affectionately as the Little Bounder.

Only one thing was spoiling her happiness.

She couldn't forget her little brother, that pale little boy who tried to cling

to her in the workhouse when the farmer took her away all those years ago.

She was always wondering what had happened to Will. You can guess that

this worried her young husband.

It's your brother, isn't it?

Yeah, it is.

Is there nothing I can do?

Oh, I don't know, John. Maybe we could go to Plymouth to find her. Lizzie

suggested it might be best for her to get back to Plymouth and find out what

she could about her brother.

But then how to get there?

The chance came when the farmer that her husband worked for asked him to go to

Plymouth to fetch a new farm card.

The farmer was laid up and he couldn't go himself.

So, off they set early in the morning, busy wearing her one good dress, and

this excursion was really like a holiday for them, because they never usually

went beyond their own valley.

Her husband's business took them to the outskirts of the town, so she left him

there and went on to the workhouse.

I had so much to do.

I really can't tell you, my dear, thousands of children. Where to start

looking, that's the thing.

The matron was just the same, a little older, a little greyer.

She hadn't much time for Lizzie, and she didn't remember her or her brother.

She did look over some old ledgers, but she could find no mention of Will's

name.

There'd been epidemics. Many children had died.

Will might have been among them. I have to go now, I'm afraid.

There's no more time.

Please, could we just try a few more pages? Look.

Look, see?

No, it's hopeless.

There are so many.

She was glad to get out of that building, but she tried to hide her

disappointment as she made her way back to the yard.

When she got there, she found they'd completed their business and she was

invited to take a mug of cider with her husband.

What's her name?

Lizzie. Oh, hello, Lizzie.

Would you like a drink? I'd love one. He didn't need to ask. Now she'd got on, he

could tell. So he tried to amuse her, as he always did.

He pointed to a large wagon behind her.

This one here?

Do you like it?

Oh, lovely, Joe.

Was he really meant to buy anything as pricey as that?

Yes. No, that's ours over there.

She had just that nice way of lifting her spirits at such a time. They were

very close together, these two.

I think the horse would like it, too.

Well,

you know our horse.

This is very kind of you. It's a pleasure.

Anyone who does business with me... There you are.

Well, let's drink to your health.

Lizzie was a good-looking girl, and her husband was used to the way men looked

at her.

If you don't mind me saying, that's a very pretty pendant you're wearing.

Yes, it is, isn't it? It's very old.

Somehow this man's interest in Lizzie was different.

Well, I suppose we ought to be going, then.

I'll get the horse tacked up, Lizzie, and put it in the cart.

Yes.

Well, goodbye, Mr... Toka.

Mr. Coker.

Goodbye. Goodbye, Mr. Coker. Goodbye, then. Pleasure doing business with you.

You know the name now? Will Coker? If there's anything I can do for you, you

know where to find me.

Thank you. You say, Will Coker? Yes.

You didn't ever live in a workhouse, did you? Here?

Yes, for five years.

Was your name always Coker, then?

Well, no. I was born Carter.

Will Carter?

Lizzie.

Will had been lucky. You remember, their father was drowned.

Well, it seems that before he went under, he'd helped a young officer to

safety.

And when this man got back to Plymouth, he made inquiries about the Seamans'

family. He found Will orphaned and...

more or less adopted him, gave him his own name, sent him to school at his own

expense. And now, Will had a good job and good prospects.

What a moment that was.

It turned into a great reunion, filling in the lost years.

And they didn't part until they'd promised to meet again soon.

They both felt that they had a family at last.

Well, I never knew Lizzie, of course, or the brother, Will, but I did know

Lizzie's daughter, Bessie.

And this is how the story came to me, you see. I see.

She used to come into my shop and talk to me, and one day she said, you know,

I've got no one to leave this pendant to, and it's meant a lot to me.

And she said, I'd like you to have it, and perhaps it'll bring you luck.

And that is how it comes now to be in your hand.

And in whose hands could it be better than in yours? That's very kind. Thank

you.